You Felt Me Falling
by kate-7h
Summary: "Lydia knew she should let herself fade into replenishing unconsciousness. She should be sleeping. She should curl up on the other end of the couch and shut her eyes to the world for a few hours. She really should. But she couldn't. It was her third nearly sleepless night in a row, yet she still couldn't." Post season 3b. Lydia and Stiles mourn.


**A/N:** Basically a tear fest... Enjoy your post 3x24 feels!

* * *

It had been three nights since Lydia had gotten any proper sleep. She knew she should. Everything had stopped, so she had time to breathe, to think, to sleep. She knew she should let herself fade into replenishing unconsciousness, just as Stiles had. His feet pressed against her thigh as she sat beside his sleeping form on the couch. His soft snores of deep sleep penetrated the silence of the dark living room. She should be sleeping. She should curl up on the other end of the couch and shut her eyes to the world for a few hours. She really should.

But she couldn't. It was her third nearly sleepless night in a row, yet she still couldn't.

The past few weeks had been chaos, the past few days utter hell. Lydia's mind was racing so rapidly there was no way she could shut it off, even if she tried.

The clock on the mantle ticked it's way past 2 am. Lydia's face rested between her hands as she stared at it, the minutes passing by sluggishly. But time was no longer on her mind. With the ticking of the seconds, there was only one thought that really stuck in her head. _Allison. Allison. Allison._

Everything which had happened cascaded down, pouring from her head all the way down through her ribs; cutting off her breath. Her obscure warning. Allison. Aiden. The hospital. The sheriff's station. The dead. Stiles. If only none of it had happened. If only she didn't have these memories to carry with her. If only she'd made her warning more clear. If only Stiles hadn't been possessed. If only Allison hadn't died.

_If only_.

Logically Lydia knew none of it was her fault. There really was nothing she could've written on that car window to keep her friends from coming to her aid. From running straight to their doom. Logically it wasn't her fault, but that burden hung on her all the same. It was as if each life lost was it's own separate millstone draped around her neck.

Wasn't she supposed to be a banshee, a harbinger of coming death? Why was she always too late? Why couldn't she help anyone? Lydia felt the complete failure crashing over her live a tidal wave. This was something that she had no idea about, nor any idea of how to learn more than she already did. She just wanted to help.

Lydia's fists clenched at her loose, tangled hair; her face distorted with a mixture rage and agony. The first made her want to run into the forest, tear the roots of the nematon out of the earth with her bare hands. She would pull and pull until her hands bled if it meant that cursed thing was dead.

The other just made her want to crawl into the darkest, loneliest corner she could find and weep until there was no more moisture left in her body.

Lydia went with the rage. Standing, she paced back and forth across the floor, her bare feet chafing against the rough carpet. Her hair became more of a tangled mess as she ripped her fingers through it over and over.

A pulsating throbbing vibrated through her brain. There was no sound, just that unbearable rhythm, trying to pound it's way out of her skull. Lydia could just barely feel it, as if it were fading. Like a heartbeat. Somewhere deep within her very bones, she knew it was Allison's. Her powers, or the universe, or whatever the hell gave her the abilities of a banshee was mocking her. Mocking Allison and that sacrifice she'd made. She could almost hear cold laughter as she felt her best friend's heart slow and stutter. Lydia shook with rage, her fists clenched until her nails bit into her palms.

The pacing across the room became more frantic, frenzied. Lydia pulled a pillow from the couch and pushed it into her face, burying herself into it. Desperate to stop that booming beat. Just to make it go away; she screamed long and hard into the weaved cushion.

As Lydia screamed, the edges of her closed-eye vision splattered with red, then white. It was as if she'd be transported into a different dimension, surrounded with sterile white light. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet. The air was heavy and dense. Silence emanated like it was it's own being in and of itself, ready to consume whatever tried to break it.

Lydia couldn't tell how long she was there walking, or floating, through the blinding light. It could've been seconds, or hours on end. It could've been no time at all. She didn't know. All she knew was the abstruse silence as it enveloping her. It was either rapturous, or a worse hell than she'd been in before. In that strange place it was hard to tell between sensational and torturesome.

Through the confusing quiet, she heard a muffled sound. Like someone shouting through a soundproof window. It was barely a whisper to her ears, but it was enough to break the trance.

Lydia's eyes flew open to a dark room, completely pitch black to her unadjusted sight. But she could hear. The ticking of the clock in Stiles' living room. The creaking of floorboards. Stiles shouting her name. It seemed to draw her out of her bizarre, dreamlike state.

"Lydia- Lydia! LYDIA!" His voice got less distant the more she came to consciousness.

As the world came into focus, Lydia looked up at the boy kneeling over her, shouting in her face. She felt his hands shaking her shoulders just as clearly as she felt that rough rug underneath her curled legs.

"What-what happened?" Lydia asked, her voice dazed as she looked up at Stiles' tired face.

Stiles let out a sharp exhale, "You tell me. I woke up to you screaming. Then you fell down and you just wouldn't wake up."

"How long was I out?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles leaned back against the couch, "I don't know, twenty minutes maybe? It kinda felt a lot longer while you were out of it."

Lydia sat up, her mouth set in an uncertain frown. The clock on the mantle read 2:36 am, about twenty minutes seemed right from the last time she's checked. She nodded, letting her wide-eyed gaze fall to the dark corners of the room.

"Why'd you scream, Lydia? What'd you hear?" Lydia blinked and looked back to Stiles. His face was so worn and apprehensive. Like he was already expecting some other terrible foe to come and tear down the little bit of quiet they had. To kill another friend.

That wrath gripped her again momentarily. They'd just gotten rid of the Nogitsune. Yet it was just accepted by Stiles and everyone else that that would not be the last evil the see. There was more to come. Terrible things seemed to always happen to them, to this batshit crazy town they lived in. Since when had they come to accept that as par for the course?

"It wasn't a banshee thing. I think. I didn't hear anything. It was just silent," Lydia pulled at the strands of carpet. "There was this pounding, though. Like a heartbeat."

She looked up at Stiles sitting across from her, "I could've sworn it was Allison's."

The dark bags underneath Stiles' eyes seemed to sink deeper as he nodded, his brow creasing.

Lydia gave him a vague smile, "Sorry I woke you up."

Stiles shrugged, then sat back up on the couch. Lydia got to her feet and sat beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He placed his hand on her back, tracing comforting circles in the fabric of her dress. Lydia gripped his other hand between both hers. Closing her eyes, Lydia's thoughts turned to Allison again.

* * *

"What do you think of this one?" Lydia chimed, her voice bubbly as she held out the floral patterned dress.

Allison laughed, ringing like wind chimes, "You really didn't have to buy that for me."

"I know. But I also know this was going out of stock. And I knew you would just love it," Lydia smirked, extending the hanger out to her.

"Well, in that case, you're pretty much right," Allison replied, holding the dress up to herself.

"Aren't I always?" Lydia quipped.

Allison tilted her head at her best friend, then layed the dress down beside the crossbow which sat on her dresser. Like it was a hair curler or something totally and completely normal.

"What are you doing this summer?" Allison asked.

Lydia hummed, "Probably just some reading in the sun. Lots of beach time."

"Not talking to Jackson?" Lydia glanced at Allison, eyebrow quirked.

"Are you talking to Scott?"

Allison raised her hands in surrender, "It was just a question."

Lydia tossed her head, shaking off that line of conversation, "What are your summer plans?"

Allison's hands traced the edge of the dresser, "Me and my dad were talking about going to France for a while. Clear our heads of Beacon Hills, you know."

It hurt Lydia's heart to hear Allison's pain. Of course she wanted to get away from Beacon place was toxic. It killed her aunt, then her mother. Lydia wondered why anyone still lived here. She almost wanted to scream out the window, 'Run! Run for your lives!' Honestly, with all the supernatural creatures and mass murderers, it was miraculous Beacon Hills wasn't already a ghost town.

It would be good for Allison and her father to breathe free, clean, natural air. If she were them, she'd run away and never come back.

* * *

If only they'd run when they'd had the chance.

Lydia felt the tears roll down her cheeks as the memory faded, Allison's beautiful voice along with it. They dripped off and splashed onto her hands as she clung to Stiles. She saw Stiles lean forward to see her face, but she closed her eyes again. The tears kept leaking through, dribbling down to her lap.

That's when the sobs came. Releasing Stiles, Lydia covered her face with her hands. Her sobs tore out of her throat in big, bursting gasps. For the second time since it had happened, Lydia let herself cry for the loss of her first genuine friend. And they were ugly, wretched tears. She'd never felt more alone in the world than she did right then without Allison.

But she wasn't alone. Stiles was sitting with her, sniffling through his own tears. Lydia looked up at him, her face scrunched with grief. Stiles pressed his lips together, blinking down the water from his lashes. Looping both her arms around Stiles' neck, she hugged him as tight as she could to her. He returned to embrace, burying his face in her neck. Lydia sobbed again, feeling herself shake with heavy breaths against him.

"It's over," Lydia said weakly, her voice trembling. The threat was gone. That fight was over. Her life long friendship with Allison was over. It was all over.

"Yeah," Stiles replied, his voice swollen.

"She's gone-" Lydia choked out, whispering those terrible words into the crook of Stiles' neck.

There really wasn't anything Stiles could say in reply to that. Instead, he just held her against his chest, rocking gently.

They sat like that for a few very long minutes. Lydia listened to the ticking of the clock was she completely soaked Stiles' shirt in tears. He rocked her back and forth until her breathing evened out and she leaned back, still holding onto Stiles' shoulders as if he'd disappear.

Lydia brought her hands up to rest on either side of his face, wiping at his tears with her thumbs. Then she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on his forehead.

"I'm so glad you're okay," She breathed, her face forming a half smile.

Stiles' lips turned up, though it was barely an attempt at a smile. He leaned sideways into hand, as if it were the only source of warmth within a ten-mile radius. His eyes drifted down, pain etched into his features.

"It'd be better if I weren't," He mumbled, almost like the words were only really meant for his ears.

But Lydia heard them all the same. And they broke her heart. Lydia moved her hands to his jaw, bringing his face up again to meet her eyes, "Don't say that, Stiles. Please."

"Allison's dead," Stiles said with a shuddering voice. "So is Aiden and so many others. Scott was impaled and I twisted that sword in him. You were abducted. I-that's my fault, Lydia. It's all my fault."

Lydia was shaking her head at every word he spoke. They were so wrong, every single word, "None of that was you, Stiles. You would never do any of it. You know that. It's so completely not your fault. How could it be?"

Stiles shook his head, guilt and shame radiating off him like some offsetting aura. He pulled away from her and hunched over the edge of the couch, his hands covering his mouth.

Lydia dropped to the ground and knelt in front of him, her fingers lightly pressing his knees, "Stiles, just because some supernatural creature stole your face and your life doesn't mean that you're responsible at all for what it does, okay? You get that? It stole your life! And you won. It doesn't get to keep winning now."

Stiles' brow creased deeply before he covered his face completely. Hunched over in such a broken way. The only thing Lydia wanted to do right then was pull him into her arms and hold him forever. Hold him until he was whole and healthy and happy again.

Letting out a long sigh, Stiles looked up at her again. His misty eyes shone brightly in the bleak darkness of the room. There was so much defeat and misery in his eyes as he gazed at her, as if she were a lighthouse in a storm; capable of guiding him back to shore.

"How the hell are we supposed to get through this?" Stiles exhaled softly.

Lydia blinked at her own fresh tears, pressing her lips together. The Oni, the Nogitsune, losing Allison and everyone else? It had caused so much grief and agony. She felt her own dark hole in her heart, seared by the destruction the Nogitsune left in it's wake. She could barely imagine how awful it was for Stiles right then. How could they get through this? How could they go on with such tremendous burdens to bear? Was it even possible?

Looking up, Lydia leaned her forehead against Stiles'. She shuddered out a soft breath, "Together. We'll get through this together."

Stiles closed his eyes, drops of tears falling down his face again. He nodded against her head, pressing his lips together.

Lydia wrapped her arms around Stiles' hunched shoulders, holding him close as he began to cry again. He hugged her a little too tight, but it was alright. She didn't mind. Lydia lifted her hand to the back of his head, cradling his head against the nape of her neck while the swayed back and forth to their own sad rhythm. Like if they let go for even the slightest second they would lose their last shred of hope forever.

So they held on.

* * *

**A/N:** And then they both curl up on the couch and pass out because holy crap! They are soo sleep deprived. I needed some Lydia and Stiles mourning, because there wasn't much time to show that in the proper show. And I'm definitely not over Allison. Like at all. So some Stydia angst over her.

Yo, this is my first completed Teen Wolf fic! How'd you fellow fans like it?


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